That’s me with a red nose from crying and some Kleenex™. Ok, well you can’t see my nose. But trust me, it’s super red.
That’s my favorite Cubbie sweatshirt and my Cubbie blue wall next to my computer in my vocal studio.
I am pointing to the spot that I almost punched.
All because I couldn’t change my Apple ID password for two weeks.
I am that person who has about 17 different variations of a password. My important crap is so protected, that even I can’t get into it. It’s not like it’s on purpose. It’s not like I have some sort of ninja special op internet security plan that I have devised for myself. It’s literally more like: Gah, I forgot my password. Let me reset it and add another character at the end. Honestly, my last password was probably longer than “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious@%*(+!”. … with a new exclamation point at the end.
(Side note: While writing htis just now, it took me 4-5 times to try to spell “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” before I Googled, copied and pasted it into this post. I had to tell you. I share everything when I write. Especially my faults.)
So, all the time, I keep on having to change my passwords. I never write them down because I never write them down. But I know it has to be some sort of variation of the old one. This is usually where things go very wrong.
Two weeks ago, I’m, as usual, in a hurry, and I need to buy an app on my phone VERY QUICKLY, because of some very, very important need (insert “really stupid need”) and I can’t remember my password. This is where I type in about 6 incorrect variations, until I get prompted to change my password.
OK. I go to change my password.
“Enter ID User Name”….ok…entered.
At this point, it prompts me:
“Enter Old Password”…
Now I’m starting to sweat on my upper lip and my aura is fading to black and I have to mad-pee….that’s kind of like hungry+mad= hangry. Mad-pee.™
Hey Apple phone, you little fucker: I don’t know what my password is, because if I did, we wouldn’t be where we are right now. And I would already have been able to download and I would already be playing my very important zit popper game.
I think I blacked out large memory chunks of what happened next, but there are images and flashbacks that creep in and out of my mind like…reset password…..enter credit card….apple calling you with pass code, please hold…
Inevitably, I get to a screen message that informs me that I am in “ACCOUNT RECOVERY MODE“. I’m locked out. I am told that I will be contacted in an indefinite amount of time when my account can be verified.
I mean, I didn’t. But I wanted to…
Over the next two weeks, I check my email a couple times a day to see if I’ve received any information. I have self-refused to call the Apple store and accept the appointment that they are going to offer me that is available in three weeks, just so I can go there in three weeks and have them tell me that I have to go home and wait for the email.
Now, it’s crunch time…I have to get this changed…I have a recital coming up and I have to buy some songs from iTunes and I can’t get INTO the rat bastard. I Google search and I go to restoremypassword.com or what ever the hell that site is called. I’m lip sweating again as get all the same traumatic prompts, only this time, on the website page, it actually has the ability to tell me an actual waiting time period for my account to be verified…and for me in this case…is waiting eleven more days. %FPK&'[43j3d#(Jht#!
This is when I really start to look at my wall and look at my knuckles and I start to generate some pretty self-sabotaging fantasies: I’m going to punch that wall. I’m just gonna….DO IT. But, if I punched the wall, would I break my hand and then I couldn’t hold my microphone at gigs because I always hold it in my left hand….maybe I should punch with the right…why is it that I can’t hold the mic in my right hand when I’m singing, that’s so weird, but it feels weird, I’m so weird…If I break it, I want hot pink cast.”
Then I see the 1-800 Apple number at the bottom of the page, but I am soooooo glass-half-empty at this point. If I call it, I know that I will just have to deal with either (1) totally automated crap or (2) I will end up with a potentially stupid and unhelpful human. (I am so sorry but I have been talking to a bunch of those all.week.long.)
I even throw up a little “help me” FB post. Waiting. A friend says to me “namaste”…that helps a little.
Then I call the number, automated…and in a very slow, psychotically controlled, yet pissed-off voice, I say, “I.WANT.TO.TALK.TO.A.HUMAN.”
Hey! I’m actually connected to a human! Well. She didn’t disappoint in the glass half-empty department. She literally did not know what the fuck she was doing. I could hear her trying to read down the org chart on what she was supposed to say….while I am waiting for her to work her way through this…I start to take my right, less-significant fist and push really hard on the wall, tap-tap-push…tap-tap-push….pretending it was her face. After nine minutes of her muddling through this painful dance, I beg her to talk to a supervisor…
Hey! I’m actually connected to a supervisor! My proverbial glass is filling up and that’s good, because, boy, oh boy, do I need a drink! Now, this one, this human..she knows what she is talking about; I can smell it. She’s going to get me to paradise and quick.
Supervisor: “What device are you on?”
Me: “My phone.”
Supervisor: “Do you have any other Apple devices?”
Supervisor: “Get your iPad and log into my settings.”
Supervisor: “Now go to change password and enter a new password. Done!”
What? What the ever-living F.
Let’s take a silent moment to process.
Apparently, all I had to do was change my password on another devise.
Yes, I said I was an IT tech for years.
I didn’t say that I was a good one.